


Just Picture Everybody Naked

by thatbluenote



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Control, F/M, Hand Jobs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Missing Scene, Outdoor Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, idek, post season 2 episode 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 10:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatbluenote/pseuds/thatbluenote
Summary: Beth spots that familiar black car parked discreetly down the block from her house, its low dark shape like a bad omen, sleekly incongruous with the suburban landscaping.She’s so late coming home after a long day with the film crew for the new commercial that she can already anticipate the whine of Dean’s questions. Where have you been, Beth. How much did that new commercial cost, Beth. Why do ladies even care about fancy tea and coffee at the dealership, Beth.And now here’s another question: Rio, leaning against his car, waiting for her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am trash for these two, no apologies.

* * *

 

 

Beth spots that familiar black car parked discreetly down the block from her house, its low dark shape like a bad omen, sleekly incongruous with the suburban landscaping. 

She’s so late coming home after a long day with the film crew for the new commercial that she can already anticipate the whine of Dean’s questions. Where have you  _ been _ , Beth. How much did that new commercial  _ cost _ , Beth. Why do ladies even  _ care  _ about fancy tea and coffee at the dealership, Beth.

And now here’s another question: Rio, leaning against his car, waiting for her. 

He already showed up once to ruin her day.  _ One man’s trash _ , he’d said _ … _ there’s never any easy answers with him. Just solutions to problems that turn into bigger problems the second her back is turned. She leaves her van at the curb and steps out, feet aching in her heels.

“What do you want?” She feels conspicuous walking across the empty street in the dark and wishes for a distraction, something to keep this conversation short. A nosy neighbor. A hurricane. An FBI raid.

He leans against the car door, regarding her impassively. “I think you know.” His voice, soft and rough, strips away everything but the heat that fills the air between them every time they meet like this. She hates it and craves it at the same time, guilt and desire pooling in the pit of her stomach. 

Beth crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m afraid I don’t, no.”

“I’m here for what I’m owed.” Something twists in the air between them, something she’s not understanding.

“What do you mean? We paid you, didn’t we?”

“Sure you did. But I also know you sold a whole lot full of cars. So I’m here to collect my cut.”

Her jaw works for a second.  _ Shit _ . “We had to do that to get you the two hundred thousand.”

“So you think those sales were just...what, outside our agreement, somehow?”

The silence is as thick as the sinking feeling in her gut. “I thought…”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think. You didn’t think your little fire sale was part of our  _ partnership _ , did you. You didn’t think I’d notice?” He moves into her space, voice still quiet but his limbs promising that particular, lightning menace.

Her nerves are thick in her throat when she swallows. Sixty percent is already so much. There’s the money, which sits in the confusing gray zone in between blackmail and money laundering, and then there’s...whatever this thing is between them. This thing that keeps waking her up at night, making her go weak with want. The thing she thought was revenge against Dean but now seems like something entirely different.

She stalls, calculating just how thin they can cut the profits from the dealership; maybe if she can offer him a higher cut if he’ll ignore the fire sale cars and give her more time. She calculates, once again, how it is that every time she tries to scramble onto equal footing with Rio she only manages to dig herself deeper.

“I did what you told me,” she tells him. “Your advice. Your little...attempt to throw me off today, or whatever that was. I tried it. I pictured everybody naked.” 

He pauses, shifting his stance. “Did it work?” Looks down at her, face unreadable in the streetlight shadows.

It had needled at her all day, the little barbs he threw out at her. _Maybe you need a little bathroom break to think it over..._ that mocking look in the restaurant with her sister and Ruby. Or eyeing Dean: _Didn’t you tell him? It’s too good, ma._ Like it’s nothing to him.

Maybe it is nothing to him. It is a sharp spike in her memory, what happened in the bar that night: blinding pleasure and shameful, searing need, wrapped up in the memory of his body against hers, brief and hot and intense. She clears her throat, trying to rid herself of the heat rising in her cheeks. “No, it didn’t work.” She lets her annoyance take over. It’s much easier this way. “It didn’t have to.”

“No?” He turns a little as if bored with this line of conversation, facing a shoulder to her as he scans the street. 

“No,” she insists, trying to catch his line of vision. “Because I did fine on my own. I’m good at this stuff. That commercial was my idea. The whole thing, soup to nuts. And you know what? You let me know when  _ you’re  _ running a dealership and  _ you’re  _ shooting a commercial, and then maybe I’ll show up and give  _ you  _ some tips about how to do it. I’ll tell you  _ exactly  _ what to picture.” 

He pushes off the car in one fluid movement and his chest is suddenly blocking her vision, looming in front of her. His warmth radiates against her skin like a magnetic field, hovering with the suggestion of touch. 

If he’s annoyed by what she’s said, he hides it well. She can’t help it, her eyes flicker down to follow the movement of his hand as he raises it to his mouth, smoothing down the flat stubble of his beard where it lies neatly trimmed around his lips. 

His hands are soft, so soft. As soft as his lips. She knows that now. If she thinks of those hands and the way he palmed her ass in the bathroom that night, it will be enough to make her go weak. 

“You don’t have to tell me what to picture, ma.” His eyes on her are wide and dark. “I picture it all the time. Your skin.” His eyes trail over her features, slow, lingering on her lips, dipping down to the skin at her throat. “Every piece of you.”

By the time he does touch her, her breath quickens as she tries to stifle the ripple of desire that moves through her. He runs one careful fingertip from her collarbone down the open neck of her blouse. He lets his hand linger there so it tugs at her collar, pulling it down to expose more of her skin. 

His touch stops at the top button of her blouse, hanging heavy, straining the silky material against the buttonhole for a second. “Every…” He drags downward, heavier, until the button slips free, opens wider. “...Last…” Another button slips through under his hand, the lace edging of her bra now exposed under his fingers. “...Inch of you.”

She swallows, wanting his hands on her, warring against her anger and frustration at everything else that hovers between them about this entire impossible situation. It’s hard when his fingers on her skin send sparks trailing, rushing, straight to the need pooling between her legs.

“What do you picture?”

It takes her a moment to parse his question, her breath coming shorter as he spreads the collar of her blouse wider almost negligently, his fingers tracing the swell of her breasts.

For a second, her fantasy flashes through her mind -- Rio in her bedroom, destroying everything, watching her carefully as she touched herself to pleasure. Mindless, chaotic destruction, exploding everything nice and careful about her life.  _ Ruin me _ , she thinks, before she fixates on his eyes again, dark pools drowning her.

“I like what you see,” she finally says quietly, feeling the truth of it only as she says it. This had all seemed like revenge against Dean, before, but now she’s not so sure. 

“Yeah?” He says, skeptical, his fingers slipping in to find her nipple and roll it between his fingers, tugging it like a question.

“Yes.” A gasp. Her lips part, wet. He presses her firmly up against the car door at her answer. “I like...I like how you see me.”

He rips down her zipper and reaches inside her pants to find the wet, silky core of her, and watching her closely still, watching her always, he slowly sinks his fingers inside her, a whispered curse falling from his lips as he feels her heat.

He watches her. He’s always watching her. He knows the rise and fall of her chest, the catch of her breath in her throat when he hits the right angle. He watches everything fall away from her, every denial, every barrier between what should be and what is, as his fingers fuck her without ceasing, without mercy, his palm grinding into her clit with every movement.

Caught and captured between his hands and his relentless gaze. Her chin drops to her chest when it becomes too much, eyes falling shut as she loses focus. He snags a fistful of her hair and yanks her head back, holding her so he can see her face. “Let me see you,” he hisses. “All of you.”

She is held there, his hand fisted in her hair and his other hand buried inside her, moving deep. She tries to squirm sideways, enough to push her pants down, wanting his cock inside her, but he simply presses her more firmly up against the car and uses his knees to pin her wide open.

His fingers inside her are quick to bring her to the edge and he knows it, a smirk spreading as she begins to lose control. The first helpless flutter of her cunt brings a moan to her lips, the gathering orgasm trickling molten down her spine. Beth bucks her hips, chasing the sensation, everything quickening, until--

He slows, stops. Goes completely still. 

“Please.” Her breath is almost sobbing out of her as he stands above her, poised on the edge of giving her what she needs, drunk on lust, she thinks.  _ No,  _ she thinks then:  _ drunk on power _ .

“Please what?” He cocks his head, mocking. For a moment he sways before her, waiting. Then he straightens up, pulling back.

Need roils through her body and humiliation rises in a wave. She could beg him on her knees. But she knows it would get her nothing. Now that he knows what she wants, he knows exactly what not to give her.

He steps back. He has what he’s come for.

Her knees still tremble with unsatisfied desire, she barely trusts herself to stand unaided. She grabs Rio’s hand, still wet with her own juices, before he can take another step back. Looking him in the eye, she pulls his fingers into her mouth, sucking the taste of herself off of his skin, rolling her tongue over and around his skin, hungry for the salt-sweet taste there. Chasing the taste of herself, she takes his long fingers so deep she feels him brush against her soft palate as she swallows. Something changes in him, then. He bends closer to her, watching her mouth work, watching the naked need on her face and in her eyes. He moves his fingers against her tongue, letting her suck, abject and desperate with her need. His breath comes faster now too, and she’s twice as desperate now to drag him down with her into this.

When his hand is dripping wet, he unzips his pants and guides her hand in his, down to his hard cock. The hard heat of him makes her eyelids dip low with desire and her knees tremble again.

He pulls her hand unyieldingly, grasping her fingers in his tightly around the shaft, moving fast, so fast, and rougher than she would have ever guessed, using her spit to speed their friction. 

She can feel the twitch start deep in the base of his thick cock, his balls drawing up, and she’s hungry to see him give over to his release, finally. She drops to her knees, fumbling with the zipper of his pants, desperate to get her mouth on him, so it takes her a second to figure out what is happening. It takes a second until she feels the slow and inexorable press of his hand on her shoulder. He pushes until she is at arm’s length and she stops struggling, unable to reach him, confused and looking up at him in the darkness.

He’s breathing hard, the outline of his cock still pressing against the fabric. He bends down from his height and leans his forehead hard against her cheek, his breath gusting against her neck. 

“You think you can outgame me. You think you can get what you want,” he says, a wild violence in his words. She waits, trembling and frightened, for whatever is going to come next.

She waits, and nothing comes.

For a mad, suspended moment, she is certain he’s about to lose his careful control and kiss her, looking down at her on her knees, breathing in the scent at her neck, violent passion ripping through him with every breath.

Poised there, waiting to see which way the balance will tip, no words come from him. His mouth works in the silence. 

His breath is still uneven, his eyes wild, when he roughly pushes her away and climbs into his car and peels off down the street, escaping into the night. 

The pavement is rough under her palms as she stumbles to her feet in his wake, struck dumb and aching with confusion. On the curb, alone under an orange streetlight, she waits a long time for the tremble in her limbs to fade. She waits a long time, long enough for the cold of the night to settle on her skin. 

She remembers to carefully button up the front of her blouse before she goes back into her house.

* * *

 


	2. It isn't enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t enough for him, seeing Beth so briefly at the car lot that day, strutting half-confident and half-hesitant in her boss bitch suit. It isn’t enough for him, and that’s a problem.
> 
> If it was just the money, Rio would know exactly how to handle her -- and nine times out of ten it is, and he does, and then he goes back to his life without a second thought.
> 
> That tenth time, though. That tenth time is a killer. That tenth time is her eyes across a crowded bar.
> 
> That tenth time is not enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, my hand slipped, I wrote a chapter from Rio's perspective thanks to the very excellent and not at all indulgent suggestions of some beloved commenters. Enjoy!
> 
> Post S2E5 (Everything Must Go).

* * *

 

 

It isn’t enough for him, seeing Beth so briefly at the car lot that day, strutting half-confident and half-hesitant in her boss bitch suit. It isn’t enough for him, and that’s a problem.

If it was just the money, Rio would know exactly how to handle her -- and nine times out of ten it is, and he does, and then he goes back to his life without a second thought.

That tenth time, though. That tenth time is a killer. That tenth time is her eyes across a crowded bar.

That tenth time is not enough.

It runs through his veins when he can’t sleep, drugging him with the memory of her clean scent, her bourbon taste, the feel of her skin, plush and rich against his. It wakes him from the ghost of a dream of her, naked and pale and soft beneath him. It taunts him until he is hard and leaking with want into his own hand in his bed and cursing her name as he comes.

That tenth time is a warning to him.

So he empties the storage unit. Enjoys smashing that hideous yellow vette in front of her and her idiot husband. He shows her exactly what it costs to cross that line with him.

Wanting her like this is a trap. Having anything less than all of her is a warning, a trap. He knows this. He needs to remember this. He needs to see something break inside her, when he wields the tire iron. It doesn’t -- not quite. So he tries again, waiting for her to break when he reveals that the dead body is now his for safekeeping. He sees something dim, but not break.

So he’s waiting on her block tonight. It’s late, long past lights-out among all the nice, good people in their nice, good houses with their nice, good secrets. He wants his cut of the fire sale cars. He wants to see something break, something die inside her, when she understands.

When she walks up to him, still in her heels from earlier, she’s lost the suit jacket and her lips are drawn up in a prim bow of frustration.  _ This will be easy _ , comes his satisfied realization in that moment.

Rio patiently explains why he’s there, and watches with satisfaction, waiting for the moment she breaks. A shock of disbelieving anger and panic ripples down her skin in an instant.

Oh, she’s  _ mad _ . And it’s fucking beautiful, like always. Little spots of color rise high on her cheekbones. Harsh breath parts her plush lips and her eyes glitter. 

“You didn’t think your little fire sale was part of our partnership, did you?” he says, his voice smooth while his pulse begins to pound, ready for a fight, ready to up the ante until she bends far enough to snap. He towers over her with it, ready. But she is so close he can smell her again and it makes something else rush through his blood, getting him high without thinking. He  _ fights  _ to push through it. “You didn’t think I’d notice?” 

Whatever he thought was broken, whatever had been cracked and splintered beneath his iron, beneath his careful manipulations, is nothing compared to the undeniable need for her that courses through him. The spark and unpredictability of her is so enticing that he can barely follow the conversation. She’s stalling for time, avoiding the issue; annoyed about something he barely remembers saying.  _ Picture everybody naked.  _

Her annoyance sharpens to anger and he can see the moment when her spine steels, when he loses what hold over he had at the start. “Maybe I’ll show up and give  _ you  _ some tips,” she finishes, her heated, scolding tone low and menacing. “I’ll tell you  _ exactly  _ what to picture.” 

Mouthing off like this, he doesn’t want to see that thing break inside her eyes, that spark dim and die. He wants to bend her over, he wants to punish her for taking such a stand against a man like him. He wants to shock her into silence, show her exactly what she’ll get. 

And maybe she’d like that. Maybe that’s exactly why she’s out here after midnight.

“You don’t have to tell me what to picture, ma,” he says softly, moving closer to her now, daring her to flinch. “I picture it all the time. Your skin...” He resists reaching for her. Not yet. She stands stock still, frozen. “Every piece of you.”

What’s worse? A warning he won’t heed, or a trap he can’t resist? It might break them both. He might pulls open her blouse, baring her to the chill night air. He can’t hold back his harsh breath at seeing her exposed like this; he can’t think too much about how she is not walking away, not for an instant stopping him. His cock thickens, heavy and straining in his jeans. She holds still, watching him touch her softly like that, spreading open the front of her blouse.

“What do you picture?”

Her breath quickens and stutters, moving her skin under his fingers. Her dark pupils never move from his gaze, drinking him in. 

“I like what you see,” she says almost breathlessly as he finds her nipple, waiting and hard, and rolls it just sharp enough to make her gasp again. “I like  _ how  _ you see me.” He keeps watching and in her eyes, nothing breaks.  _ Nothing _ .

But he does. He breaks.

He presses her up against his car, desperate to feel all of her, to know if she is as destroyed by this as he is. They fall together. Inside the silk whisper of her clothes he seeks and finds the wetness painting the skin between her thighs, and he is undone by the tight, searing clutch of her wet cunt as he sinks two fingers into her, slow and deep.

He is gone. He lives only for those wide, blue eyes of hers, her desperate gasps for breath as he fucks into her hard enough to move her body against the car, again and again. He won’t let her look away; he grasps at a fistful of her cornsilk hair when she tries to look away, desperate. He has to see inside her, needs everything from her, rutting his cock in his pants against her hip and holding her so she cannot do anything but take this pleasure, cannot do anything but show him what it does to her, how it breaks her.

How he will break her. 

He will push her right over that cliff’s edge into pleasure, ripping it from her body, ripping it out of her breath by breath. He can feel her edging toward the point of no return, tighter and wetter, her voice in his ear making helpless little sounds, and it rises in him, this need to ruin her, this absolute  _ certainty  _ that she is at his mercy.

And so does the mad, terrible knowledge that this is not enough, can never be enough. He will come back for this again and again, drunk on her, craving her, never sated. He will return to the site of his own ruin, to a trap, ignoring every warning, until it brings him to ruin.

The thought stills him. It steals the warmth from his body and the breath from his lungs. Her writhing form is right there, under him: it requires every ounce of his strength to pull free from her.

“Please,” she begs, soft need spilling like perfume from every inch of her skin toward him. 

It will be his undoing, that word.  _ Please.  _ Falling from her swollen lips with a look of total, utter loss.

“Please what,” Rio manages, breaking, cursing his thighs for trembling with weakness when he steps back. The only way to break her now is to break himself. Leave her begging.

She doesn’t let him. Instead she jerks him to a stop, pulling him back by the hand. He isn’t expecting her soft tongue, her lips, her mouth taking his fingers to the hilt, cleaning the taste of herself off of his skin. It’s intimate and slow and hesitant, until it isn’t, suddenly; it’s filthy and wet and he groans when spit runs down her chin in a tiny line. He can feel the heave of her tongue as she swallows against him. 

Her eyes promise only destruction. His own. She is the only thing he can’t break. He wants it so bad he can feel himself leaking with desire. 

He needs her. He crashes into her again, pulling her hard, and she fumbles against him in the dark a little until he can get their hands together on his cock, fast and filthy, stroking from root to head, so _good_ , my God. He will break like this, wanting more of her, wanting everything, and not getting it, and knowing exactly how it ruins him.

And she...she wants more, too. She falls to her knees in the street, mouth open. His good girl. Breath heaving, her eyes on him, dilated so wide there is only the tiniest ring of blue around the black. 

The place where he will drown.

Rio manages to holds her back with one shaking arm, with the last remaining shred of himself capable of looking at this for what it truly is. 

She’s giving him too much. She’s taking everything from him. 

He closes his eyes for a second, certain he will let her. Certain he will dive, drown, ruined and ruining, if only he can have her.

When he opens his eyes, he steels himself. He doesn’t know where the strength to do it comes from.

“You think you can outgame me?” It’s all he can do to grind out these words into her ear, willing himself not to move further, to do nothing but inhale the sweet, sharp scent of her one last time. “You think you can get what you want…”  _ You think you can walk away from this.  _

_ You think we can break each other. You think there is a way we are not both destroyed by this?  _ No.

He inhales, a long shuddering breath, miserably, achingly hard. And then he leaves.

Against the steering wheel, his knuckles grip tight and white and a shout rips from his throat, agonizing and deep, before he even gets to the end of her tidy little suburban street. 

Because they’ll be destroyed by it anyway. And he could have had her again, could have ruined everything willingly, himself and her, could have spread her thighs wide on someone’s soft green lawn and made her see God, could have made her ride him and scream his name loud enough to wake the dead. 

But he didn’t. 

He’ll just keep riding that edge of  _ not enough  _ between them, and breaking, and watching her, until everything is destroyed. Until there’s nothing left around them. Until it’s too late.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey demons, it's ya girl, uh, Angsty Porn With Feels.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a comment, pals <3


End file.
